The Astounding Mouse-ecco,
Who dove in Prosecco,
Prepared for his most daring dive.
The bubbles, he claimed,
Were more soft than Champagne.
Twas the secret for how he survived.
But alas on this day,
He'd forgotten to pay,
And his glass was filled up with plain water.
He was still unaware,
As he dove with great flare.
Now his act is performed by his daughter.
Poem © 2017 Mo O'Hara
Illustration © 2017 Nick Butterworth
Scratchy McGrowl spent his nights on the prowl
stalking the yards without care.
While Ava VanPowell plotted murder most foul
for her books, at her desk by the stair.
So Scratchy would fight and Ava would write
til the sky would near break with the dawn.
Ava opened the sash and in Scratchy would dash
and they'd both greet the day with a yawn.
They would put on their slippers and breakfast on kippers
and chat about scraps, plots and muddles.
Then ‘neath duvets they’d lay, tucking in for the day
and drift off to sleep in a cuddle.
© Mo O'Hara 2015
I pretend a lot at school to make it through the hours.
Pretending is, in fact, my most impressive super power.
I pretend times table terrors aren't always attacking
Like an army marching down the page- my pencil sends them packing.
I pretend the words and letters aren't all dancing round the book
and sneaking up and thwacking me each time I have a look.
I pretend that I don't feel the little whispers and the stares.
I pretend that I'm invincible, impervious to care.
I pretend that I am 'getting it' and know just what to do.
I pretend that I fit in here, like a foot fits in a shoe.
I pretend that all my fidgeting and squeezing goes unseen.
that I turn myself invisible with my super sonic beam.
'You pretend a lot,' my teacher tells me. Drat! How does she see?
I'll up the power to my ray beam. She'll soon move on past me.
But she leans in and she smiles, 'You're an awful lot like me.'
I turn down my ray and listen, and for once try being me.
Poem © 2014 Mo O'Hara
“Go on, eat up all your people."
"But I really don't feel well.
Maybe I could skip my dinner?"
"You're just faking. I can tell."
"But I HATE people for dinner!
Can't I just have beans on toast?"
"You need to eat good monster food.
Shall I do them as a roast?"
"Look how your sister cleaned her plate.
She’s only left one shoe.
Just a spoon for Mummy now.
Let's just start with one or two..."
"Open your mouth!" "Nmmm, mmm, mmm, mmm,"
"Don't you shake your head at me!"
“Ah mum, people make me queasy.
Maybe I should set them free?"
"I am done. I'm through with talking.
Eat your dinner in one bite!"
"But Mum, I just can't swallow people!"
"Why?" "It's gross and it's not right!"
"Oh, I GIVE up little monster!
Off to bed or you'll be late.
Dump the people out the back door,
But at least PLEASE eat your plate!"
Poem © 2014 Mo O'Hara
Illustration © Loretta Schauer
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